


Lies In The Darkness

by aleighcarlisle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Bedside Vigils, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-War, Reunions, Swordfighting, Touch-Starved, jaime lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleighcarlisle/pseuds/aleighcarlisle
Summary: "Hurt me with the truth, but never comfort me with a lie."
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 57
Kudos: 202
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	Lies In The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Renee561](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renee561/gifts).



She was warm. 

Pressed against her chest, he could do nothing but lean into her large frame. With each hoofbeat, his severed hand swung between them. The smell of rotting flesh wafted with the movement, mingling with the foul stench of piss and shit that clung to their clothes. 

The wench was stiff against him. Her thick legs firm beneath his own as they faced one another. Her bound hands held his wrists firmly, mercifully keeping them still. She kept them tight in her grasp to keep him from crying out as his tender stump brushed against her. 

He could hear the Brave Companions laughter. 

_"The lovers,"_ he heard Shagwell tease, _"and what a lovely sight they are. 'Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady."_

The wench stiffened further, pulling away from him slightly. Her movements only pushing them closer together, their bodies flush. She was so warm. 

His vision began to swim, his head leaning against her shoulder. He could feel his fingers burning, hot flames shooting up from his stump. The pain mocked him, convincing him his hand remained. 

He felt himself grow warm, liquid running down his legs. The fever had rendered him weak and unable to stop. 

Face growing hot with shame, his breath hitched against her neck. He knew they would drag her off the horse and make her clean him again. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sound of her steady breathing, willing to believe he was anywhere but here. 

"Wench," Jaime rasped.

Her head bent down, temple brushing his matted hair. His voice cracked with dryness. 

"Lie to me." 

"I don't understand," she whispered in return. 

His voice shook with pain, "I cannot bear this truth any longer." 

Brienne leaned into him, adjusting her legs to lift his higher off the saddle. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as she mumbled an apology. 

She thought back to words of Ser Goodwin, who tried to prepare her for inevitable death in battle. 

"Men will weep and moan like babes in search of their mother's breast. Comfort, my child, is all we can offer until the Stranger takes his portion."

Her deep voice trembled as she began to speak, "Soon the dawn will appear. The warmth will drive away this chill."

"We will reach King's Landing. The sound of steel against shield will meet you, a tourney hosted in your honor."

She could feel his tears soaking her collar, the weight of his thin frame heavy upon her shoulder. 

"Banners of red and gold waving in the wind. Your sword heavy in your grip."

Her long fingers tightened around his wrists, attempting to keep him still as the horse rocked him unsteadily. 

Brienne's voice dropped to a whisper, "And then you will see her. Your queen of love and beauty. You will crown her, and she will embrace you, her gallant knight, brave and whole." 

Her voice broke as his breathing evened, and his body went slack, whether sleeping or unconscious, she did not know. 

Brienne closed her eyes, looking for comfort in lies of her own. 

"I will return you to King's Landing," she whispered. "I will find Sansa and Arya. I will fulfill my oath to Catelyn Stark."

Her voice tapered off as she too succumbed to exhaustion, the cruel japes of the Brave Companions blowing away in the warm wind. 

* * *

The dying flames licked at the cold night air, his eyes entranced by their dance. He had long since retired to their bed chambers feigning exhaustion while the rest continued their planning for the fight against King's Landing. 

He knew it too good to be true. A moment's respite. The embrace of a gentle lover. 

He was undeserving of such indulgence. 

His momentary happiness dashed by the report of Iron Fleet at the direction of his sister. Sansa's words still rang in his ear, _"I always wanted to be there when they execute your sister...seems like I won't get the chance."_

He had watched as Brienne studied him, worry etched on every line of her face. What did she think of him? Did she know the thoughts that crossed his mind?

So consumed in his thoughts, he did not hear her return. It was the clink of steel as she removed Oathkeeper and placed it at the bedside that startled him from his seat. 

Her back turned to him; she shrugged off her heavy cloak. She rubbed the skin of her neck, where the collar chaffed her pale skin. Brienne sighed heavily before speaking.

"Are you just going to stare?" she asked tiredly. 

Jaime made his way over, standing just inches from her back. Resting his head against her, he relaxed instantly. His hand reached around her, pressed tightly against her chest, while his stump held to her hip. 

There she stood, strong and steady. 

His lips pressed gently against her back, breathing in her familiar scent. 

"Let me help you," he whispered.

Turning her to face him, he led her to the bed, pushing her until she was sitting on the firm mattress. 

Kneeling at her feet, he began to unlace her boots. She was patient as he struggled one-handed with the slick leather. A low moan sounded in her throat as the shoes dropped to the ground. Reaching for the stockings beneath her trousers, he pulled them down her calves, rubbing her soft skin as it prickled in the cold room. 

Reaching to untuck the tunic from her waist, he could feel her steady heartbeat as his ear pressed close to her chest. So intent was he in his motions, he didn't hear her speaking to him. 

"Jaime?" she questioned, lifting his chin to meet her gaze. Her eyes were full of concern for him. 

"You don't have to do this," she whispered. 

"Please?" he replied.

She could only nod as he continued. Divesting her of the rest of her clothes, he climbed into bed, straddling her waist as he bent to place soft kisses along her neck. 

The room was growing colder, Jaime not as diligent as Brienne about stoking the fire. 

As Jaime moved to her chest, his pace increased, nipping at her skin and trailing his mouth past her collarbone. His hand pressed against the mattress holding his weight above her body. Brienne watched as his hand trembled, his movements becoming shaky. 

She felt liquid drop to her breast, tracking across her body. Tears ran unchecked down Jaime's face. He continued, lost in his pain, unaware that Brienne's body was not responding. 

Grabbing his chin and turning it to face her, Brienne's heart dropped. 

"Oh, Jaime," she whispered.

Brienne pulled him to lay beside her, gathering him in her arms and tucking him against her chest. Jaime's stump reached around her neck and his arm across her back, pressing tight, unable to get close enough. She held him close, fingers tracing his back and neck. Cersei would think him weak for such a display. She would chastise him. Her cold fingers would grab him, crushing herself against him until he stopped. 

Brienne's gentle shushing brushed his ear, demanding no answers from him. He did not deserve gentleness, such warmth. 

As he closed his eyes and tucked closer into her chest, he listened to her gentle murmurings, whispers of honor, bravery, and strength. But the coldness crept in, and he could hear her in his mind. "They are naught but lies, brother."

* * *

The crimson tent flaps rustled in the warm air. The flames of the torches mesmerizing Brienne with their dance. The last time she'd stood before them seemed a lifetime ago—the man behind them, healthy and whole. The Lion of Lannister leading his men into Riverrun. He had looked so different from the man she'd left in King's Landing. He had refused to accept Oathkeeper, entrusting it to her for as long as she chose to bear it. Here she stood once more, circumstances changed.

She had arrived in King's Landing three days after Daenerys had leveled it to ash. They had found him a day before her arrival; his condition unknown. Her hand trembled against the fabric, her heart pounding as she lifted it to pass through.

The space was humid, dust still settling from outside. Ragged breathing sounded from the small bed in the corner—a small figure seated in observance. Tyrion, she realized, as he lifted his head at her intrusion. 

"Ser Brienne," he breathed. His red-rimmed eyes widened as he stood from his vigilance. She nodded her head in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving the figure on the bed. 

Tyrion's gaze followed her own as he spoke, "It seems my dear brother found time to partake in a sword fight before finding himself crushed beneath the Keep." He chuckled, though there was no humor in his tone. 

"The maester has done all he can. I am sure he will be fine."

Realizing he would get no response from Brienne, Tyrion quietly excused himself from the tent, allowing her the privacy she sought.

A sheen of sweat covered Jaime's broken frame. His upper body propped up ever so slightly, taking pressure off of his laboring lungs. Strips of cloth covered his abdomen and lower chest, blood soaking through the bandages along his ribcage. Brienne watched his chest rise and fall with concern, as a wheeze escaped with each exhale. His beautiful face was ashen, his golden skin turning sickly grey. In her nervousness, she reached for a basin of water at his bedside, wanting in earnest to busy her hands. Wringing the water from the cloth, she pressed it to his neck, wiping away the sweat from his fevered skin. A light rasp escaped his lips, but he did not wake. As she cooled his skin, the words came out in earnest. 

"It is probably just as well you're not awake; I wouldn't get a word in edgewise." 

Her hands brushed against the peppered hair at his chest, remembering how it felt beneath her fingertips. Her eyes shut as she traced the scars on his chest like their last night in Winterfell. Her eyes snapped open as his chest shuttered beneath her touch. 

"I have had time to think," she stated soberly. 

"I am not angry that you chose to come to King's Landing. You believed you might be able to convince Cersei to surrender, that you might save her and your people. I cannot fault you for that."

Brienne placed the damp cloth back in the basin. She ran her fingers through his greying locks, her fingers becoming tinged with soot and blood. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned in close, "I am angry that you think so little of your own life that you are willing to sacrifice it for her." 

Her hands made their way to his bandaged stump, cradling it gently, "I understand honor, Ser Jaime. I understand going to great lengths to protect those we love. But if you meant to leave that you might shield me from your hate, then you have failed Ser, for I have already experienced that hatred long ago. "

Tears dripped down her cheeks as she continued,"The night you left, I did not see hatred in your eyes, Jaime-I saw fear. Fear that someone you loved might die without you being there to protect them. Fear of not knowing how to survive without their presence."

"I know that same fear, Jaime," she confessed. 

"I am not angry that you left. I am angry that you did not believe me trustworthy to bear those burdens, that you felt the need to lie when I already knew the truth. I would have ridden with you to the gates of King's Landing, had you only asked."

Brienne stood, wiping her eyes and gripping the hilt of her sword. 

"It seems now that I am the craven one, Ser. I must return home. The Golden Company has taken Tarth; the fate of my father and my people is unknown. I speak to you of honor, but I have brought nothing but dishonor to my own house."

Leaning close to him, she pressed her face against his warm cheek, breathing him in and whispering words she knew he'd never hear. Standing straight, she stared at him once more. Unbuckling Oathkeeper from her waist, she placed it at his bedside. 

"Goodbye, Ser Jaime," she whispered, turning swiftly from the tent. 

* * *

Jaime stood outside the doors of the Evenstar's solar. When he was well enough to travel, he had convinced Tyrion to let him command the ship bound for Tarth, carrying supplies to aid in the rebuilding process. Most of the homesteads Jaime had passed on his way up the cliff had been destroyed. The great hall had become a shelter for the few who survived the onslaught. A young girl had escorted Jaime through the castle, eyeing him warily as she gripped a wooden training sword at her side. After knocking on the door of the solar, the young girl waited to be acknowledged. 

"What is it?" a tired voice sounded from within. 

"My lady, a supply ship from King's Landing, has arrived. I made sure to request identification before allowing them to dock."

He heard a heavy sigh as steps grew closer to the door, "Meera, how many times have I told you not to..." the weary voice broke off as the door opened.

"Jaime," she breathed. 

How long had it been since he'd seen that face? Standing at the gates of Winterfell, those beautiful eyes weeping in earnest, her warm fingers cradling his face. But this was not the Brienne that he remembered. The lines of her body were sharp; she had lost weight from her already thin frame. Dark circles betrayed her exhaustion. A fitted pair of trousers and a loose white tunic were a change from the blue armor to which he was accustomed. She must have been resting as the laces at her chest were undone. Her hair pulled into a messy knot at the base of her neck. 

An excited voice interrupted his study.

"Jaime? You mean Ser Jaime Lannister?" The young girl's eyes brightened as she looked him over, wondering how she missed such a thing. Jaime was surprised to hear the title of honor from one so young.

"I've never met a knight before, Ser," she confessed quietly. 

Jaime's eyes shot to Brienne, an unspoken question forming there. She shook her head in response. 

"Is it true you killed the mad king and saved all of King's Landing?"

"Meera..." Brienne warned.

"And that you saved Brienne from a bear?!"

"Meera!" Brienne put a hand to the girl's shoulder, urging her to stop. 

"I have something pressing I need you to do. Go down to the port, make sure Ser Jaime's men have the help they need. Offer them food and drink, and show them to the family quarters upstairs, please."

"Yes, m'lady," Meera nodded, reluctantly agreeing as she stared at Jaime until she rounded the corner. 

"A little young for a Castellan, don't you think?" Jaime chuckled.

Brienne observed him soberly. "I didn't have the heart to send her away. Her home was burned, her parents killed, and she only survived by hiding amongst the cliffs."

"Why are you here, Ser?" 

Jaime shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, his hand nervously rubbing the hilt of his sword. "I wanted to...I only wish to...offer my service to you. I know I cannot offer much, but..."

She cut him off, "If you are only offering to assuage your guilt for Cersei's doing with the Golden Company, I'm afraid I cannot help you."

He confessed, "I am not here for Cersei. I am here for you." 

Brienne turned from him, color flooding her face.

Jaime shook his head, "If I could just have some time with you, please, I can explain."

"As you can see, I am incredibly busy. There are many responsibilities that require my energy. You may stay as long as you deem necessary. But I ask that you give me time."

"Of course," he replied.

Walking hurriedly to the stairs behind him, she spoke softly before disappearing down the hall, "I am glad you are well, Ser Jaime."

* * *

She was avoiding him—three days since he'd arrived and she had run at every turn. The night was cold, and the sky was bright, she knew no one would bother her here. Pulling her sword from its sheathe, she ran her fingers along its length. The cold steel cooled her heating skin. She breathed deeply, drinking in the salty air. 

She swung the sword a few times, testing her grip with each pass. Eyes closed, she stood in a defensive pose—both hands at the hilt, sword held before her. The waves crashed against the cliffs below, clawing their way up the rocks. The moon was full, casting a beam of light upon the ground where she stood. Shifting her feet, she started the familiar dance. Blocking, striking, parrying with an invisible enemy. On her second pass, she swung overhanded and was shocked to feel the reverberation of steel on steel. 

Eyes flying open, he stood facing her, a great smirk on his face. 

"I could have killed you," she scolded.

"It would have been worth it, my lady," he teased. 

Sheathing her sword, Brienne breathed out a heavy sigh, "What are you doing out here, Jaime?" she asked.

"Looking to chase away the nightmares. Would you do me the honor?" 

Pulling Oathkeeper from his waist, he held it before her. The red glint of ruby's sparkled in the lion's eyes. 

Brienne faltered in response, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Afraid you'll lose to a cripple?" he teased, edging closer to her. 

"Jaime, I don't feel like it."

He studied her slumped shoulders, her weakened frame. "Well, I guess you were right," he agreed, lowering Oathkeeper. "Maybe you really are craven."

Brienne's head snapped up as if he'd slapped her, "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I'm not the only one who ran away, Brienne."

Brienne squared her shoulders, holding her sword up in provocation. Jaime smiled as he circled her, watching her footwork as she adapted to his pace. 

"You still move well, wench," he goaded, "for a great..." 

Brienne cut off his speech with a hard swing to his shoulder. Jaime blocked, pushing her back. 

"Still grimacing before you move, such anger from the Evenstar."

Remaining silent, Brienne continued her barrage of swings. Jaime took each hit, blocking but not striking. 

"I am not the Evenstar," she growled as his eyes widened in surprise. 

Jaime lowered Oathkeeper, watching as she continued to pace around him, stalking him like prey. "Talk to me, wench," he said, striking out at her chest, narrowly missing her collarbone. 

"I was gone too long," she confessed, doling out strikes rapidly, causing Jaime to lose his balance, "he gave up on me."

Both circled each other again, catching their breath. 

"What happened, Brienne?" he whispered. 

As soon as the emotion flickered across her face, he regretted the intrusion. Lowering his sword, he stepped toward her, but she did not back down. Jaime barely had time to get his weapon back up before she crashed her weight upon him. Raining blows upon his weakened arm, he struggled to stay standing. She stepped back long enough for him to recover, moving in again as she spoke.

"Do you know where I found him?" she whispered. Her eyes flashing as she pushed against his chest.

"They tied the banner of Tarth around his neck and threw him from the balcony. I found him hanging outside the solar, birds feasting on his corpse."

Jaime swallowed thickly, watching angry tears drip from her eyes. 

"Do you know where I was, Jaime?" she demanded.

He remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "Do you know where I was when my father was murdered and my city burned?"

"In the halls of Winterfell being lauded for my honor."

Jaime kept his sword trained on her, backing her up slowly as she spoke. 

"I am hateful," she confessed. 

"No, Brienne, you are not..."

"Don't lie to me, Jaime!" she screamed as her steps faltered, finding herself backed up against the rocks. 

Her eyes stared past him, sword shaking unsteadily in her grasp. "There is nothing more hateful than failing to protect the ones you love."

Jaime had her pinned against the rocks, his sword pressed to her side, "Drop the sword," he begged.

Her eyes filled with tears as he stared up at her. "Brienne, please," he begged. She nodded, yielding to him. Her weapon hit the ground as she pitched forward.

Jaime caught her before her legs gave out, lowering them both to the cold ground beneath. She buried her face in his chest, sobs escaping from deep within her chest. Her fingers clawed at his back as she held on. His stump drew nonsensical patterns on her back, his heart breaking as he listened to her grief pour forth. He could feel the sharp planes of her back and shoulders, months of stress and malnutrition taking its toll on her body. 

"It's alright," he soothed. His hand moved to her head, fingers threading through her hair, repeating whispers of comfort until her breathing evened, and her body relaxed against his. 

When Jaime's ribs began to protest his strained position, he nudged Brienne gently, "Let's get you back," he suggested. 

She silently collected her sword and stared out at the sea as she waited for Jaime. A warm hand tugged at her own, pulling her along the rocky path up the hill. Brienne paid no mind to where he was taking her, only following blindly behind. She found herself in the doorway to her childhood bedroom, the room she had offered to Jaime at his arrival. Pulling her gently into the room, he placed her on the edge of the bed. Brienne continued to stare, her eyes unfocused. Jaime was speaking to her, but she could not concentrate on his words. 

He leaned in close to her pale face, "Brienne?" he questioned worriedly.

"I'm tired, Jaime," she confessed weakly, a single tear tracking across her cheek. 

He held her face in his palm, "I know, sweetling." 

Jaime brushed the wayward tear from her face, "Sit tight; I'll be right back."

Closing her eyes, Brienne breathed deeply. Her hands shook in her lap, and her head began to ache. 

She was startled by a hand on her shoulder, "Sorry," Jaime whispered. He placed a plate beside her, a few pieces of fruit and fresh bread were the offerings. Her stomach revolted in pain. 

"I'm not hungry," she stated. 

"You are starving, wench. You need your strength. Just a bite," he encouraged, placing the bread in her hands. 

As she chewed the bread, she could feel her stomach cramping. Closing her eyes at the pain, she felt a cup pressed into her palm. The sour smell of wine hit her nose as Jaime tipped it back and helped her sip, "It will help," he promised. 

After finishing a meager portion, Jaime took the food away. He returned with a steaming bowl of water he had warmed over the fire. His stump held it precariously against his hip as he set it on the floor in front of her. Jaime met her eyes, a silent question forming there. She was back at Winterfell. 

"Brienne?" he questioned. 

"You don't have to," she answered.

He began his ministrations, so different than before. He pulled off her shoes, propped her feet up on his lap, and wiped away the dirt and grime from each one. Bruises marred her calves from where her boots rubbed mercilessly against them. Rising on his knees, he took the cloth to her face. Tracing her brows and forehead, he ran his fingers across the uneven bridge of her nose. His hand trembled as it traced her lips, smiling shyly at her as she watched him. Undoing the clasps of her shirt, he pulled the sleeves off each arm, exposing her skin. Running the cloth down both arms, he was shocked at the amount of muscle loss he felt. Her worried gaze met his own as he pressed a kiss to her arm before moving on. Warming the cloth again, he traced the skin around her small clothes, the thin fabric separating her breasts from his touch. Brienne reached behind, unclasping the band. Her gaze dropped to her lap as he continued. 

"Brienne?" 

She looked up as he held the cloth in front of her chest. 

"Look at me," he whispered, "It's alright."

Not once did his gaze leave her own as he ran the cloth gently across her breasts. 

"How many times when we road with the Brave Companions did you take care of me?" he questioned, "how many times did you bathe me, bandage me, keep me alive?"

Her lip trembled at his words. He placed a warm palm to her chest, where he could feel her heartbeat beneath. 

"There is no hatred here, Brienne," he said, "only love."

He kissed her gently before placing a shirt back around her shoulders, pulling it tight to cover her chest. 

"Can you handle the rest?" he asked.

She only nodded as he stepped away to ready for bed. 

Brienne finished cleaning up and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up, and watching Jaime. 

He quickly wiped the dirt from his skin before dressing and putting away their things. Jaime turned to see Brienne's eyes were drifting shut. Retrieving Oathkeeper, he quietly placed it beside her armor stand.

"Jaime?" Brienne whispered tiredly, "will you stay?"

His heart broke at the vulnerability of her words. The fact that she even had to ask showed how deeply he'd hurt her. 

Lifting the covers, he crawled in beside her. Laying on his back, he propped his head on his stump, listening as her breathing evened out in sleep. The bed shifted as she turned to him. Eyes never opening, she lay her head upon his chest, wrapping her arm around his waist. Her foot hooked around his leg, pulling her body as close to him as she could. Her fingers traced the hair on his chest, breaths coming in soft puffs as her movements slowed. 

The soft skin of her chest rose and fell against his side, pulse beating a steady rhythm. Her body wrapped around his own, knee tucked between his legs, soft lips breathing against his neck. He held her tight as the cool breeze blew through the room, following her quickly into sleep. 

She was so warm. 


End file.
